And Back Again (Where You Belong)
by eidheann
Summary: He thought back on their previous handshakes, and smiled faintly at the fact they always seemed to mean so much more to him than they did to Potter. / Written for 2014 GlompFest on Livejournal for This Bloody Cat


**Author:** eidheann  
><strong>Gift For:<strong> this_bloody_cat for the 2014 GlompFest on Livejournal  
><strong>Pairings:<strong> Harry/Draco, mentioned past Harry/others  
><strong>Summary:<strong> He thought back on their previous handshakes, and smiled faintly at the fact they always seemed to mean so much more to him than they did to Potter.  
><strong>Rating: <strong>NC-17  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> Pining, rimming, sex, and drunkenness in several permutations. I prefer to think of those as enticements.  
><strong>Epilogue compliant? <strong>Not even a little bit.  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> 16000

* * *

><p>Things started, rather unexpectedly, with a handshake. Not the failed handshake of first year, or the rather more dramatic Handclasp of Avoiding Fiery Death In the Room of Hidden Things during seventh. Instead, it was entirely anticlimactic. Potter had testified for Draco and his mother at their trials, revealing to the Wizengamot and the wizarding world at large that both been responsible in their own ways for his surviving long enough to off the Dark Lord. At the end, he'd handed Draco his wand with a distracted handshake and a "see you next year, Malfoy," before disappearing into a sea of red hair and freckles.<p>

It was very odd, and in the little voice Draco didn't like acknowledging, not how he would have hoped to finally be treated like a human being by Harry Potter. It was something though, and eighth year began with awkward nods and greetings and progressed through smiles and shared jokes. Then on the last day of term, when the eighth years were assembled in an intoxicated pile in their shared common room, Potter leaned in and kissed him.

Draco _had_ thought long and hard about that happening. He thought about it particularly while in bed at night with his curtains drawn and silenced, or on those occasions he had the showers to himself. But like the distracted handshake of nearly a year ago exactly, a brief, drunken kiss to his cheek was not how he'd imagined it.

There was not nearly enough time, for one. Usually Draco imagined snogging Potter. Long, drawn out kisses with lips and tongues and spit, wandering hands and gasping breaths. If Draco hadn't been so hyperaware of Potter, he might have thought the fleeting kiss was nothing more than the brush of an insect's wing against his cheek.

But a kiss it was, and when he turned to look at Potter in surprise, Potter flushed and stammered and beat a hasty retreat to the dorms.

All in all, not how Draco anticipated his relationship with Potter changing. Not that it did anywhere outside his head.

Things continued to not-progress as Draco expected. He followed his mother's advice, signing up for Auror training with Potter, Weasley, Longbottom and practically the rest of his year. He hated it. He hated the long hours and the paperwork and the drills. He hated everything about it except the Friday nights at the Golden Goose, where they took over half the pub and drank and laughed and made fun of their instructors and select members of the Auror corps.

Draco also decided then that Potter was just an affectionate drunk. He was always leaning on Finnigan or wrapping his arm around Lovegood. So while each smile and flop onto his friends caused a part of Draco's heart that he didn't like to acknowledge to sink, he focused instead on the way Potter's joy caused his own happiness to rise. And Auror training almost seemed worth it.

But then, Potter had to go and do the expected, and turn Draco's world upside down.

oOo

"Draaaaaaco." There was a sudden weight and heat against his side, and he peered over to find Potter's face very close to his own. "Draaaaaaaco. Draco. Dracooooo."

"What?" Draco tried half-heartedly to shrug Potter off his shoulder before giving up and taking another drink from his pint. A drunk Potter was an affectionate Potter, and while Draco had seen him doing this to the former Gryffindors, it was odd Potter had chosen him.

"Draaaaaaco. What kind of name is Draco, anyway?"

Draco frowned. "You're drunk, Potter. Go away." He gave another shrug, but when Potter's arm slipped off his shoulder, he was left with Potter's full weight leaning into him, and he glanced around the pub.

"Don't wanna." Potter wrapped his arm around Draco, pulling him tight against him. "Why do you smell so good? You always smell so good."

Draco sighed. Apparently everyone else had left while he'd been drinking and now he was left alone with a handsy Potter. "Come on, Potter. You've had enough if you've reached the groping stage. Let's get you home."

"Yeah, come home with me."

Draco winced at the twitch his cock gave to that. "You don't mean that. Come on."

"I do. Please. Please. Want you. Have done for ages." And Potter leaned in to kiss him.

At least that went about how Draco expected. Potter was plastered and his aim was off, missing Draco's mouth almost entirely. But then Potter grabbed his head, turning him into the kiss with a quiet groan, and Draco was lost in the feeling of it.

And of course Potter would be good at snogging, just like he was at everything else. Perfect pressure of lips, perfect amount of tongue, and the most perfect soft "mmm" he made with every breath. The taste of firewhisky was impossible to miss, however, and it was all Draco could do to break away.

"Potter. Stop." Draco managed to brace his hands against Potter's (perfect) chest and push. Potter stumbled slightly and he hardened his resolve. "You're drunk. You need to stop because you're really going to regret this in the morning."

Potter's obstinate face was also very familiar, and Draco hefted his wand. "I will _Stupefy_ you and shove you face-first into the Floo, don't think I won't. Let's get you home and you can sleep this off and if you still want in my pants tomorrow, you can come and tell me about it."

Potter's mulish expression didn't change, but he nodded. "Fine. I'll be in your pants tomorrow, though. Don't think I won't."

"Yes, yes. You'll conquer my trousers and move on to my pants before breakfast. Let's go, Mr. Hero." He gave Potter a strong nudge in the direction of the Floo.

oOo

His Floo chimed shortly before lunch, and there were few enough people who knew his address that he automatically waved his wand to allow whomever it was entry.

He was not expecting it to be Potter, especially not Potter with a button-down shirt, unwrinkled slacks, and having made an obvious attempt to flatten his hair. And he _definitely_ wasn't expecting Potter to cross from the Floo to where Draco was seated on the chaise in long strides, and then lean in and snog him.

Draco was more surprised than he'd been the previous night. Potter was notoriously affectionate whilst drunk, and the most Draco expected to come of Potter's grope and snog was perhaps an awkward apology if Potter even remembered it.

He wasn't expecting Potter to be in his flat, smelling of soap and toothpaste and skin and- _Merlin_- to be doing _that_ with his tongue. "Wait, wait. What are you doing?"

The look Potter gave him at that wouldn't have been out of place in the Slytherin dorms, and he could feel the blood rising to his face. "I would have thought that would be obvious, but if you need it explained—"

"No, I mean... Why?"

It was Potter's turn to blush, and he ran his hand through his hair, rumpling it. "I er... I took a Sober-Up last night." Draco winced in sympathy, as_Shelby's Sober-Up Solution_ was notoriously unpleasant, ridding the body of all alcohol like a _Scouring Charm_. "Well, er... I could still smell your shampoo, and, well. It was really decent of you last night. Not taking advantage, I mean."

Draco frowned, the familiar sinking feeling in his stomach returning. "So, this is some sort of gratitude thing? Thanks for not being an arse and jumping me when I was drunk enough to fuck a hippogryph?"

"No! I mean, no. I meant what I said last night. I've wanted in your pants for approximately fucking ever. I just..."

Potter trailed off, his gaze fixed on Draco's mouth and he felt a breathless giddiness growing inside him. "You just... what? Scared, Potter?"

Potter's smirk in response was sex itself, spreading slowly across his face, and he leaned in again to breathe "you wish" against Draco's lips before kissing him again.

And why did Potter have to be so fucking perfect? The night before hadn't been drunken luck. Potter kissed with the most intriguing combination of shy assertiveness, first demanding entrance to Draco's mouth only to barely tease with his tongue once he got there. Draco would have thought it would drive him mad, that having a partner who wouldn't make up his mind, to either push Draco down and snog him senseless or have the courtesy to let Draco do the same, would be the definition of a bad snog.

But Potter wasn't. Draco felt off-balance, breathless, completely at Potter's mercy and totally fucked. And that lasted until Draco's hands went to the buttons on Potter's shirt, only to have him pull away abruptly. "I... I don't. I've never..."

He blinked a few times, trying to regather his thoughts. "With anyone or...?"

The flush that rose on Potter's face was lovely, distinct from the earlier flush of arousal, and Draco's heart thudded in his chest. "Or... I mean." Potter coughed and his gaze skittered around the room, anywhere but at Draco. "I've had, um, blow jobs. But, um."

Draco reached for Potter's hand, squeezing it gently. He could feel the smile on his face, feel it stretching in a way he wasn't used to, but he felt breathless again with Potter's embarrassed admission. "We don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with."

Something in Potter's face loosened, and he smiled brightly at Draco. "I want to. I do, I just... haven't." Then he leaned in and snogged Draco again until he could only cling to Potter and try to catch his breath.

When he felt Potter's hands slide under his shirt, calluses rough on his back, he thought it safe to return the gesture, tugging Potter's shirt free and letting his palms skate up Potter's sides. Potter seemed to approve, as the first touch of skin on skin caused another of those little moans that went straight to Draco's cock, and Potter pushed Draco back until he was spread against the soft cushion of the chaise.

Everything after that was a blur. Potter's shirt opened under Draco's shaky fingers, while Potter simply shoved Draco's shirt up to bunch at the top of his chest. The feel of Potter's chest, smoothly muscled and gliding against his as they rocked together, distracted him from the discomfort of the material.

Potter was hot, heat radiated out from his skin, sinking into Draco and leaving him gasping almost as much as the solid weight against him. And the slacks did nothing to disguise the feeling of Potter's cock, rock hard against his as he rutted into him again and again and again.

The breathlessness left Draco feeling even more out of control, the speed of his response to Potter, all spun together in an overwhelming cycle of thrust and gasp and heat until his cock pulsed before he was even aware of the approaching orgasm. He blinked, aware he'd cried out, that Potter had something in his expression, a small smile twisting his lips that he couldn't read. Then Potter buried his face in Draco's neck, his hips still grinding into Draco's sensitive prick in a way that was almost painful, and then the feeling of teeth in his shoulder, the sharp pain focusing his attention as Potter groaned and arched and stilled.

He closed his eyes, burying his face in Potter's sweat-damp hair and breathing in the scent of him, letting his hands slide over the shirt on Potter's back. He felt Potter lay a gentle kiss where he'd bit, nuzzling briefly before pulling back to smile at Draco.

Draco could only grin back like a fool. "Not how I expected to spend my Saturday, not that I'm complaining."

Potter blushed and laughed, one hand brushing though Draco's hair. "Not exactly expected for me, either. Also not complaining."

They lay there another moment, smiling at each other like loons, before Draco shifted and grimaced at the squelching feeling in his pants. "I'm sticky." Potter's face twisted and he nodded before pushing himself off Draco and pulling his wand from his pocket. Draco closed his eyes, reveling in the warm tingle of Potter's magic as he banished the sweat and spunk. "I don't suppose I could interest you in some lunch? Maybe with the promise of dessert after?"

Potter's expression morphed into a leer and he leaned in, giving Draco another kiss. "I think you could talk me into it."

"Excellent. How persuasive do I need to be?"

The kiss Potter gave him at that was much less brief. "I'll let you know when you get there."

oOo

The weekend was everything Draco could wish. Harry was creative (and he was Harry now, even if only in Draco's thoughts), for all his lack of experience, and Draco was hard-pressed to feel even a twinge of dismay that they'd never actually gotten to the trousers-off stage. They'd kissed and teased and frotted like a pair of schoolboys, and life felt exactly right.

Life felt exactly right until he saw Harry stumbling in, almost late and still looking as flushed and shagged out as when he'd stumbled into the Floo to return home shortly before midnight. Exactly right until Finnigan had teased him for pulling, asking who the bird had been, and Harry mumbled a "nothing" and "nobody special" and not looked once at Draco.

Well, at least the leaden feeling in his stomach was familiar.

He completely ignored Williamson's lecture on _Camouflage, Concealment, and Critical Confundus_, his mind instead worrying over Harry's words. It didn't look good. But maybe he'd not had time to tell Weasley and Granger and they had some special best friends privilege to hear first that he was gay, or had a boyfriend, or had spent the weekend snogging Draco Malfoy.

And how did one bring that sort of thing up in conversation? He didn't know, and he was glad he hadn't tried when his opening offer of dinner after training was met with a blush and a brush-off.

So the last thing he expected was for a repeat on Friday of handsy Harry. He'd almost not returned to the pub, but decided last minute that if the pub was the only good part of Auror training, he'd be a fool to skip it after the week he'd just had.

And poking his head in was all he'd intended, but Thomas was doing impressions of Proudfoot, which always got funnier after his second pint, and before he knew it, he was sitting with Harry leaning against him, murmuring in his ear and everyone else had wandered off leaving them alone.

So it was with a feeling of deja vu that he pulled Harry up and hauled him to the Floo, tossing in the powder and ignoring the groping in favor of booting Harry (literally) through to his flat. He wasn't disappointed in the least. Not at all.

oOo

He wasn't really expecting his Floo to chime shorty after breakfast Saturday morning. Expecting was too strong a word. But the feeling of history repeating meant that he was unsurprised when it did, and even less surprised when Harry tumbled out.

What did surprise him were Harry's words, spat out before he'd even caught his feet. "Why did you do that last night?"

Draco blinked at Harry, then blinked again. "You were drunk so I sent you home."

"To _my_ flat!"

"Er, yes? I made certain to enunciate, so you shouldn't have ended up anywhere else."

"Not to your flat!"

Draco rubbed his head, thinking fondly of the headache potions in his bathroom. "Why would I bring you to my flat? You were drunk and had ignored me all week."

Harry had the grace to look slightly shame-faced at that. He shoved his hand through his hair, once again flushing, and coughed. "I'm not... I thought we were having a fun thing. A weekend thing, I mean. It's the only time I have to even think about anything but training and eating and sleeping. I didn't mean to ignore you, I just didn't know how to..."

When Harry's words trailed off, Draco tried to help. "Have a boyfriend?"

Harry's head shot up in surprise, and there was no mistaking the expression on his face for anything but dismay. "Boyfriend? What?"

"Well, I don't know! We spend the weekend snogging and you treat me like I don't exist the rest of the week. I have no idea what you're expecting."

Harry's expression softened at that, and he approached Draco slowly. "I'm sorry. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't... I never thought about being gay or having a boyfriend and I just... I don't want something that everyone makes a big deal about. I want us to be friends..."

And that answered that, didn't it? Draco swallowed the sick feeling in his stomach and gave what he hoped was a friendly smile. "Friends, with slightly more on weekends, I hope. Got it."

His smile must have been good, for Harry beamed at him, exhaling the breath he wasn't aware Harry had even been holding. He told himself that Harry's relieved face was worth it.

oOo

Harry's relief was worth it for a while. Their talk did some good; Harry stopped treating him like he was invisible during the week and went back to something approaching the familiarity they'd shared late in their eighth year of Hogwarts.

And then there were the weekends. Weekends were... well, they were perfect. Harry continued his trend of suddenly breaking out of a fit of nerves to plow forward full speed. They'd rocked and frotted together for weeks before Harry surprised Draco one evening by tugging off his pants and attempting to suck his cock.

Of course, he'd no idea what he was doing and gagged and coughed, but he'd done it, which opened the door for Draco to get ahold of _Harry's_cock to show how it was done. And it was glorious, a long thick heft in his hand and across his tongue.

But by the time Harry was swallowing his cock with ease, Draco was beginning to feel... worn. The heaviness in his chest was always present, stealing his breath whenever Harry smiled, and that little voice was always whispering about how much more he was invested in Harry than Harry was in this weekend thing. The fact he'd never _discussed_ that with Harry was irrelevant. They'd been doing this for several months, and everything Draco knew about relationships was they evolved or they died.

And it did feel like dying sometimes. When Harry sidestepped the chance to say he was seeing someone, or cut out early on Sunday for dinner with his real friends, Draco put on the smile that was feeling more and more fragile and Harry left. Harry always left.

So when he was done; when he told Harry that he was looking for a relationship, that this weekend thing was an issue because _Malfoy's don't do infidelity_, he wasn't surprised when Harry didn't offer himself up to be Draco's boyfriend. Harry had made his opinion on that clear from the beginning. Harry's expression sagged, something dimming around the edges, but he did nothing more than wish Draco well. Then he left.

Draco sat alone, wondering if he should have waited as the long weekend stretched out before him. Days that used to be filled with Harry now spent with nothing but his own company. He sat and sulked and finally pulled himself together. He was a Malfoy, and Malfoys got what they wanted. He would just show Harry what he was missing; then Harry would be back.

oOo

"Big flaw in your plan, my friend." Blaise was sitting in a comfortable chair in his hotel room in London, brunch spread on the table before him, and not even bothering to look at Draco over the newspaper he was reading.

Draco snagged a slice of bacon and took a bite. "What? You're single."

The paper dropped slightly, enough to see that Blaise had raised an eyebrow nearly to his hairline. "I'm straight," he enunciated directly at Draco.

Draco waved that off. "So was Potter before he decided he liked sucking my dick. It's not like I'm asking you to _do_ anything. Oh! No, you're just curious and break my heart! Potter will definitely want to comfort me for being taken advantage of."

"What? Like he did? Perfect plan, that." Blaise shook his head. "No one will believe it."

Draco squirmed at that, but focused on the latter point. "_Please._ You're a complete man-whore. No one will have a problem believing you sticking your dick anywhere."

Blaise winced. "Language, Draco. What are they teaching you with all those Gryffindors? Besides turning you into one and wearing your heart on your sleeve and falling in love with idiots who don't deserve you."

"It wasn't his fault. He said he didn't want a boyfriend, just a friend he could fool around with. He didn't lead me on."

Blaise's expression was caught somewhere between sympathy and pity, and Draco could feel his hackles rising before he even spoke. "Then he's an idiot at best, not seeing what's right in front of his nose. And a bastard at worst for taking advantage. You could do better. I just want you happy."

Draco took a sip of tea, grateful when Blaise directed his attention back to the newspaper and allowed him time to regather himself. "Then you agree?"

Blaise sighed. "Fine. I still say it isn't going to work, but you can spread whatever rumor you want."

oOo

Laying rumors really was easy. A minor _Glamour Charm_, a crowded lift with either Patil or Bones present, and done. Draco sat back, attended his various classes, and waited for the rumor to spread.

He waited. And waited. And waited.

He didn't think himself selfish that he was surprised when the news of him shagging Blaise didn't trickle through the Ministry within two or three days. The halls were usually full of even more unbelievable rumors, mainly focused on who was currently sleeping with whom.

And when he _did_ finally hear signs, it was from _Weasley_ of all people, and nearly two weeks later. They were all at the Golden Goose and well into their cups. Potter wasn't there, on an overnight stakeout practice with Longbottom and MacMillan, and Weasley had collapsed against Thomas in a drunken pile. Draco had just returned from the toilet, and was pondering making his way to the Floo as the evenings at the pub just weren't as fun without Potter, when he heard his name.

"Didja hear? Malfoy got drunk last week and jumped Zam-Zim-Bizini." Draco frowned and moved closer. "Poor bloke's not even bent!"

"Didn't know Malfoy was bent."

Weasley shrugged, nearly knocking Thomas off his shoulder. "Maybe he's just one of those... you know... Drink and get horny types."

Thomas laughed. "What? Anything that moves? Doesn't sound like Malfoy, he's way too uptight. Think the rumor mill might just be running a few twigs short of a broomstick."

Draco was torn; on the one hand, he _wasn't_ the 'shag anything that moves' type, and that was the opposite of the outcome he wanted from the rumor. On the other, it was the first sign he'd heard that his rumor had done anything but fall completely flat.

Unfortunately, before he could decide how to respond, Weasley turned and saw him. His face, already flushed from his beer, turned a darker shade of red and he giggled. "S'all right, Malfoy. No one'd blame you for jumping on Banzini. But stick to the gay ones, right?"

Then Weasley downed his beer and stumbled to the Floo, leaving Draco gaping like an idiot in the middle of the pub. He had no idea if this was a good development or a bad one.

oOo

Oh Monday, Harry didn't even look at him. He hadn't heard anything else about his supposed encounter with Blaise, and he had no idea what to do about either situation. The weeks ahead of him stretched into a long trail of misery and he again cursed his mother's suggestion that Aurory was the best way to repair the family name in the post-Voldemort world.

Surely the Malfoy name could be repaired as easily by having a Healer or Potions Master in the family. Especially one who rose to the top of their field, which he knew he stood no chance of as an Auror when faced with Potter, Longbottom, or Weasley. But Narcissa Malfoy had been determined, and with his father spending the next two decades in Azkaban, he'd not had the heart to cross her.

He regretted that every day, even more so now that Potter treated him like he was invisible, as Potter's friendship had been the only thing that made the daily grind of training and practicals bearable. Draco began to spend more and more time fantasizing about the life that might have been, the life where he was happily training for something he actually _wanted_, where he'd not taken the Mark, where he and Harry could live happily ever after.

His marks began to drop, and he only infrequently attended the next several pub nights, the sight of a happily-intoxicated and chatty Harry hurting more than he could bear.

oOo

"It didn't work." Draco poked listlessly at the tea tray before finally deciding to pour himself a cup.

Blaise said nothing as he spread cream on his scone, but his expression was remarkably open, revealing a combination of sympathy and I-told-you-so'ness he'd only allow Blaise to get away with.

"The only thing I heard about it later was that I get so drunk, I'll fuck anything that moves. And that was from _Weasley_."

"He thinks you fucked me?" Blaise sounded surprised for the first time that afternoon, and Draco glanced up at him and shrugged. "I didn't think anyone would believe any of it."

"Just that I'm a bigger man-whore than you are. And doubtless he passed it on to Harry, which means he just thinks I'm a whore, too."

Blaise sighed. "I still think you should be out there looking for an actual relationship, and not worrying about what Potter thinks or doesn't think of you."

He stirred his tea, not caring that the spoon clanked against the sides of the cup. "I was happy, Blaise. He made me happy."

Blaise shook his head at that. "He did _not_. You were a lovesick fool who would do anything for him and he didn't even see you."

"We were friends!"

Blaise sighed, setting his spoon carefully on his plate. "Sometimes friendships don't survive shagging. It's awful, but it happens. You've just got to move on."

Draco winced at the reminder of Blaise's spectacular falling out with Daphne Greengrass in eighth year. They'd been thick as thieves from first year on, their mothers had even spoken of an alliance, but they had fought shortly before the end of term, and as far as Draco knew, had not spoken since. No one was certain what had happened, though the entire class had known they'd been shagging.

"I'm sorry."

Blaise gave a tight smile and waved it off. "Apologize by drinking your tea and stopping that infernal stirring." After a moment, he continued. "You should speak with Pansy, she told me last week that cousin of hers was visiting London next month. Henri? You could use a distraction, and to actually get some of this shagging you're supposed to be doing."

"Ugh, Henri? You're trying to set me up with Henri? He's so... ugh."

"Flamboyant? Narcissistic? Loud?" Blaise's grin grew wider at each suggestion, eyes twinkling merrily. "Most important, he's the exact opposite of Potter, and exactly what you need to take your mind off."

"Don't you dare."

"You asked for my help with this! And now you don't want it?"

"I do _not_ need help with getting laid! I asked for your help getting Potter back!"

"And you said how well that worked. I'm trying to _actually_ help you, here."

"You can help me most by not setting me up with Henri Parkinson."

Blaise gestured in surrender. "Fine, fine. So how's the Auror thing going?"

As Draco attempted to make up interesting stories about training, he almost wished they were still talking about shagging.

oOo

"But d'you really think Harry's got someone stuffed away in a love nest or something?"

"Nah. I thought he might've for a while when he disappeared every weekend, y'know?"

Draco had been going to the bar for another pint, but at hearing Harry's name, he paused, shamelessly eavesdropping on Weasley and Finnigan's conversation.

"Had the glow of the frequently shagged, yeah." Finnigan nodded, rubbing his chin in the exaggerated manner of the thoroughly intoxicated. "That fell through, whoever she was. But he's not been coming to pub nights as much lately, yeah? What about weekends?"

"Well, he still comes Sundays, but no one sees him Saturday anymore. Like before."

Finnigan nodded. "I'm tellin' ya, he's got a bird stashed somewhere. Or he's trying to."

And Draco leaned in, drunken words spilling from his mouth before he could catch them. "A Muggle. I heard they met at the... that Muggle grocery thing. He spends his Saturdays stacking boxes hoping she'll give him the time of day. Very tragic."

Draco had enough time to wonder where the hell he those drunken words had come from before Finnigan's eyes sparked in delight. He clapped a hand over his mouth to stop anything else from spilling out.

"Nah... I don't think—" Weasley shook his head, looking uncertain.

"Makes perfect sense, don't it? Wonder when she'll let him into her knickers." With that, Finnigan turned and waded deeper into the pub, where he leaned in to whisper in Bones' ear. Both looked at Draco, giggled, and turned away again.

_He was so fucked._

oOo

"I don't know why I said it! I have no idea where the words came from! Maybe someone hit me with an _Imperius_ or something!"

Blaise and Theo gave matching snorts at that, otherwise ignoring Draco completely in favor of the chessboard.

He sighed. "Alright, I was drunk and stupid. But what do I do now?"

Blaise slid his Queen across three spaces where she smashed Theo's Castle. "You might have turned Seer, Weasley and Finnigan did say he's been disappearing weekends again."

Theo leaned back in his chair, giving Draco his full attention for the first time since he'd Floo'd in. "He could have found a girlfriend. Just because he likes sucking your cock doesn't mean he doesn't also like fanny."

Blaise grimaced. "Language!"

"Or maybe he found a new boyfriend." Theo continued, and when Draco went to protest, cut in. "Okay, fuck buddy."

Blaise sighed. "You both used to know how to express yourselves without resorting to vulgarity."

"Shut up, Blaise." Theo leaned back over the chessboard, prodding his Bishop unhappily. "Sometimes it's just the most efficient means of getting your point across."

"What do I _do_?" Draco tried again.

"Stop drinking."

"Stop going to those stupid pub nights."

"Why did I think you two would be a help?"

Blaise looked offended. "You not wanting to take the very valid advice you're given does not mean we're not being a help."

"Leave him. He's hung up on Potter, he'll get over it or he won't." Theo finally moved the Bishop and Blaise turned his attention back to the board.

"I can't. I'm too much a do-gooder." Blaise moved his Knight and grinned. "Oh! Check!"

"Should do-gooder this game." Theo muttered before he turned to Draco. "You have two options. You can give up on Potter, because sometimes things just don't work out. Or you can talk to the idiot instead of doing things guaranteed to piss him off. And for Merlin sake, stop drinking and running your mouth off."

"That's three options." Draco murmured rebelliously.

"Two options. The last wasn't an option, it was a requirement."

oOo

Sure enough, the rumor of Harry's doomed love affair with a Muggle shop clerk was all over the Ministry on Monday morning. Also expected was Harry's harassed expression at the giggles and sympathy and advice. Draco knew he was going to be hexed or worse when Harry finally tracked it back to the source.

The worst part was he completely deserved it. Harry hated being the center of attention, as he'd finally learned in eighth year, and the Ministry rumor mill was worse in some ways than the _Prophet_.

He swore a vow to follow Blaise and Theo's advice, and began distancing himself more and more from the other trainees. It was lonely, especially since his mother had packed off to France to stay with the Black cousins still living there. The _sane_ half of the family, he liked to call them. But it meant the only person he spoke to beyond the barest generalities was Blaise.

And Blaise was _no help_, always with pitying looks and telling him to transfer to St Mungo's or work on a Potion's Mastery. Which was hard when he thought about what he really wanted.

He'd begun daydreaming about that nearly as much as Potter's cock, and both seemed equally out of reach.

oOo

It was nearly a month later that he was stopped leaving the training room by a firm hand on his elbow. "Malfoy, a word if you please."

He knew he'd gone pale, and when he glanced over, Harry's expression was tight and closed. He sighed, and then nodded to the benches lining the room.

When the last person had cleared out, Auror Proudfoot shooting them a suspicious glance as he did so, Harry rounded on him. "What the fuck, Malfoy? _You_ were the one? Why would you do something like that?"

He considered prevaricating, but the 'Malfoy' stung. "I was drunk off my gourd. I didn't even realize what I was saying, just protecting your precious heterosexuality."

"My _heterosexuality_ wasn't even in question according to Ron! Did you think he wouldn't tell me who he heard that stupid rumor from? I asked around a month because I thought we were friends and friends don't pull that shit!"

"We're friends? Such friends you don't look at me or talk to me and completely ignore me in passing? And friends don't pull that kind of shit when you're just fine being friends with Finnigan, who was the one who spread it, I might add. That's a load of doxy dung and you know it!"

Harry looked shocked, as if he hadn't thought Draco would fight back, and that fact enraged Draco even further.

"What the fuck are you scared of, _Potter_? Being gay? Relationships? Letting go of your precious Gryffindor reputation by thinking everything bad comes from Slytherin? Because I'm fucking sick of you claiming to be friends and treating me like I have Dragon Pox. I made a mistake, I admit it. I was drunk and ran my mouth. I apologize, is that what you want?"

"I'm not gay." Harry's expression had tightened, shock having shifted to anger. "And you know that I hate people talking about me! And forgive me if I don't know how to talk to you when we've stopped shagging. It's awkward, alright? We're still friends—"

"Fine. You're not gay, you just really like sucking your friend's cock. And you can't handle it so you say you're still friends to assuage any guilt you have about not actually caring about them."

"You're the one who wanted to end this, Draco."

"Because I fucking cared about you, you arse, and you just treated me like a fucking whore who was only worth talking to when you wanted your prick played with and I was done with it!" And the sick feeling was back when he realized what he'd said, what he'd admitted. But in for a knut...

"I loved you, alright? And I was sick of being your dirty little secret because you're ashamed of me or of it or - or I don't even know. And I thought if I ended it, we could go back to the way things were in eighth year, or before we started shagging. And I could have a friend in this stupid Auror training thing. Because I hate it, and having you as a friend was about all that made waking up and coming here every day worthwhile. And maybe part of me hoped you'd think you were going to lose something too, and decide you wanted a boyfriend."

And at that, something in Harry's expression shifted again, and he shook his head. "I'm not... I can't be gay."

"And I can't be 'just friends' with someone who can't even manage that."

"Draco, I'm sorry—"

And Draco had to cut him off, couldn't let him speak. If Harry spoke, this entire situation would sink in fully and he would vomit. "So, talk to Finnigan if you want to yell at someone for spreading rumors. Or to Bones. They're the ones who made sure you were the talk of the Ministry."

"Draco—"

"Fuck you. I'm done, Potter. I quit. Goodbye." He turned away, mind in a blur, wondering when this was going to catch up with him. _Later._ Then he hurried out of the training room, mentally composing his letter of withdrawal from the Auror Training program, and wondering how long it would take to pack and join his mother in France. The Malfoy name wasn't worth this, not anymore, and he would Apprentice to a Potions Master or at one of the Magical Hospitals there. They wouldn't care about his name, only his Galleons and NEWTs.

He cursed himself that he kept a half-ear for Harry following him, trying to get him to stop, but of course it didn't happen.

oOo

Draco groaned as he pushed himself out of bed. The sun shining in golden lines across the honey oak floor did not stretch nearly far enough into the room, which meant he'd overslept again. He cursed his mother and her bloody house elf, who was apparently terminally incapable of waking him before 8.

Or more specifically, was responding to his mother's direct orders. _'But you've been working ever so hard, dearest.' His mother had taken a sip of tea and blinked guileless blue eyes at him. 'You deserve a bit of a rest while you await your results.'_

Not that he was worried at all. He wasn't. He knew his potion was a success, and he'd spent the previous five years working his arse off, first at Magical Université de Rennes and finally with Master Thierry. The results were really just a formality. He needed them, needed their _specifics_ to decide where to go from here.

After all, a Masters in Potions meant his half-joking dream of opening an Apothecary somewhere like Provence or Bruges or Prague a perfectly valid strategy, whereas a Masters in Medicinal Potions meant he would have his pick of magical hospitals anywhere in the world.

He let _that_ thought pull a smug smile onto his face. Whatever the results of his Defense, his future was open and free, entirely his for the taking. And after only five years, which he couldn't say for himself had he remained in Auror training.

He cut that thought off before it could continue. Everything about his life between sitting his NEWTs and joining his mother in Rennes was a mistake he spent a great deal of time trying to not think about.

It didn't work, but he told himself it did. It was almost as good.

A pop interrupted his thoughts and he turned. "Clover be sorry, Young Master, but Mistress be requiring yous presence in the drawing room."

"Has my Owl arrived?"

Clover shook her head sharply, large ears flapping in time. "No, Young Master. Mistress Andromeda and Young Master Teddy is here for brunch."

He frowned at the elf, an expression she brushed off with the power of decades of habit. "You couldn't have woken me earlier?"

"No, Young Master," she retorted primly and disappeared with another pop.

He sighed, wandering to his wardrobe and pulling out a set of robes nice enough for a family brunch. He wondered what Aunt Andromeda and Teddy were doing here, Tuesday was an unusual day for a visit.

oOo

"Draco!" Draco had been tackled as soon as he opened the door to the drawing room, Teddy latching onto him like the Giant Squid.

"Good morning." He grinned at Teddy, unable to resist his enthusiasm. "Good morning, Mother. Aunt Andromeda."

His aunt gave him one of her enigmatic smiles, while his mother busied herself sorting the tea. "Good morning, Draco. How are you?"

"I'm well, thank you. And yourself?"

"I am very well, thank you. Teddy was rather determined this morning to come visit, and how could I resist?"

He eyed Andromeda, knowing her fully capable of resisting Teddy at his most pathetic, but was unable to call her on it with Teddy half-strangling him.

"And how have you been, Teddy?"

"I can change my nose now!" And with that, he scrunched his face up with effort and his nose lengthened into a small elephant trunk.

"Wonderful! Can you move it, too?"

Teddy shook his head. "Only when I sneeze."

"Well you should change it back or it will be in the way of your scones." His mother set a plate filled with scones covered with jam and cream at Teddy's usual spot and smiled.

Teddy's nose shrunk down again with little effort, his attention caught by the scones. Draco followed him to the small table, and took a croissant for himself. He'd barely finished his first sip of tea before there was an owl scratch at the window.

"Oh look, an owl, and so early this morning. Do be a dear and let it in, Draco." His mother and aunt's expressions were equally innocent, and Draco knew they'd known his owl would arrive this morning. He shot his mother a look, but hurried to the window and the barn owl sitting patiently on the ledge.

"What does it say?"

Teddy's excited voice broke him out of his daze, and he became aware he'd been standing at the window holding the scroll still unopened. He cracked the seal with shaking fingers – he wasn't nervous, not at all – and unrolled the thick parchment.

Then he breathed, his smile growing and eyes filling in relief. "Medicinal Potions. I got Medicinal Potions."

His mother burst into tears and launched herself at him, and Teddy followed suit, his laugh loud and infectious. His aunt smiled from the table. "Well done, Draco. Very well done."

oOo

The impromptu party lasted until Teddy was yawning over his pudding, and Andromeda gently shooed him through the Floo, glowing blue with the international connection. His mother poured Draco another glass of wine and smiled. "Where will you go?"

"I... I don't know. I can go anywhere." He stared at the scroll in his hand, relieved it was spelled to resist creasing and damage as he'd been unable to put it down for more than a few moments at a time, reading and rereading it as the day progressed.

"You could return to London. St. Mungo's would fall over themselves for you."

He shot his mother a look. "I'm done with trying to repair the Malfoy name in England. They'll think what they want of me, and I'll be fine without them."

"You were happy there, Draco."

"I wasn't. I was miserable. I hated every minute."

His mother shook her head. "You hated Auror training. And I'm sorry I pushed you into it. But you'd made friends, something you haven't here."

He shifted in his seat. "I've been busy."

"You've been hiding. You haven't settled here, which even when you were training as an Auror, you had. Maybe not close friends, but you had a system of support. You've not let yourself have that here. You only let yourself open up with me, or Andy or Teddy. And they live in England."

And with that, she pulled out a scroll. "I've been holding onto this, just in case."

He frowned. The writing on the outside was obvious: Master Thierry's sharp downstrokes almost ripping the parchment. "Master Thierry wrote to me because he was uncertain about our family's relationship with London. St. Mungo's asked him specifically about you six months ago, when you confirmed your intentions in the Medicinal Potions Mastery."

"They asked for me?" He couldn't help the skeptical frown he gave his mother. Medicinal Potions was a specialized and rare Mastery, most people went to Healing or stayed with standard Potions Mastery, but it wasn't so rare that he expected hospitals to contact him before his results were in.

"Apparently, they'd received notice of your NEWT scores from Slughorn. He knew the head of Potion and Plant Poisoning." His mother's expression tightened slightly. "They didn't contact you directly because you'd declared for Aurory. I'm sorry, Draco. But when you left and enrolled here, they followed your results. And then they contacted Master Thierry."

She passed the scroll across to him, and he took it with nearly as much trepidation as he'd opened his Mastery results before letting himself scan the page.

"They want to offer me a position." He stared at the parchment, in shock. "Even before my results, they wanted to offer me a position. And Master Thierry thinks I should take it."

His mother nodded. "And there's more. Teddy's had to start taking Wolfsbane."

His head shot up at that. "But I thought..."

She nodded. "We all did. But last month on the full moon, he blacked out and destroyed his room. The potion is so... He's so young."

He nodded, his mind racing. Wolfsbane was horrible for adults; he couldn't imagine the long-term effects starting it on a seven year old.

"You could help. You could be there. And this sort of thing is your specialty; it's what St. Mungo's is willing to pay you a great deal for. He's your family."

And if he'd not been convinced already, that would do it. He would contact Master Thierry and St. Mungo's.

oOo

Draco entered the guest room in Grimmauld Place, setting his bag down just inside the door. It was odd being back in London; even as brief as the trip from the Portkey Authority to the doorstep of Grimmauld Place had been (and he made a mental note to renew his Apparition license at the soonest opportunity) there was a distinct London-ness that was completely different from life in Rennes.

He hated to admit it, but the first breath of London smog loosened his shoulders and gave him a comforting feeling of home. He resolved to not tell his mother that, she was entirely too smug.

"Does everything suit?"

He turned to smile at Andromeda, standing in the hallway behind him. "This is lovely, yes. I'm on half-days all this week for meetings and orientation, so I'll have time to find a flat. I'd like one close by."

Andromeda nodded, lips twisting into a small smile. "If you're keeping Healers hours, I can't say I blame you. Teddy is up by six every morning, which could prove inconvenient at times."

He smiled back at Andromeda. "Thank you for putting me up until then."

"Nonsense, you're family." She folded her hands in front of her, back still ramrod straight, and smiled warmly. "And as family, I expect you on time for suppers unless you give proper notice. Kreacher has supper plated promptly at seven, and you'll need to let him or me know by tea if you will not be available."

He chuckled. "Of course. I assume this only applies while I'm staying here?"

She simply raised an eyebrow at him and winked. "I will leave you to get settled in. You may join us for tea if you wish; otherwise I will see you at supper."

"Thank you." He turned back to his room, opening his suitcase and beginning the process of unpacking.

oOo

He'd collapsed on the bed, scrolls and advertisements for flats surrounding him in messy piles, when there was a pop and "Mistress Andromeda instructs Kreacher to inform Master Draco Malfoy Sir that supper be served in the dining room. Mistress Andromeda also instructs Kreacher to inform Master Draco Malfoy Sir that should he not wish to sit at the table as is proper, she will not allow Kreacher to keep Master Draco Malfoy Sir's supper warm."

He looked up to see Andromeda's ancient house elf staring balefully at him from the foot of the bed. He was wielding a wooden spoon like he'd enjoy nothing more than smacking Draco with it. Deciding discretion was the better part of valor, at least when it came to elves of uncertain temperament (learned from Clover at an early age), he simply replied, "Thank you, Kreacher. I lost track of time but will be downstairs in a moment."

Kreacher stared at him another moment, before nodding and disappearing with a pop. Draco sighed, shuffling the sprawl of papers into at least somewhat of a pile, and slid off the bed. He rubbed his head; two hours of wading through advertisements filled with smiling estate agents and oddly-angled photographs of toilets and cabbage rose print carpeting left it pounding.

He detoured to the bathroom, swallowing a pain potion and splashing water over his face. Meeting his eyes in the mirror, he grimaced. He looked tired, the excitement he felt over his new position in St. Mungo's overwhelmed by the visible stress of travel and moving. His eyes were red with dark shadows underneath, and he rubbed the lines that seemed to be taking residence between his brows.

A shout from downstairs dragged Draco's attention away from the mirror and he dried off quickly before hurrying down the stairs. Kreacher was brandishing his spoon again, this time at Teddy, who was jumping around him like an overeager Crup.

"Young Master Teddy be going to the dining room now!"

"I'm waiting for Draco."

"Well I'm here."

"Draco!" Teddy launched himself at Draco, and he stumbled at the force of the impact.

"Master Draco Malfoy Sir and Young Master Teddy be going to the dining room now!" And at that Kreacher gave another wave of the spoon.

"Don't worry, he won't hit us. He's not allowed."

"Horrible Mistress Andromeda denying Kreacher the ability to properly discipline the young masters..."

"If that's supposed to be your subtle voice, you're failing." Andromeda's amused tones easily overtook the elf's words, and he shot her a peevish glare before turning and stalking down the hallway, still muttering. "And now you are both late for supper."

"I'm sorry, Aunt Andromeda. I was looking at flats and lost track of time. I believe Teddy was waiting for me."

"Hmm. Kreacher always gets testy when he goes off-schedule. I suggest you set a _Tempus_ in the future." Her words were belied by the smile she gave him over Teddy's head, and she continued. "Now, supper is on the table and getting cold. Teddy, let go of Draco and let him eat, he looks famished."

oOo

He had set his alarm, rather hopefully he thought, for 7:30. But he'd had trouble sleeping with the unfamiliar sounds of the house and London around him. Now it was 9 and he was waiting for his first meeting with Alice Rigsdale, the head of Potion and Plant Poisoning, and relying on the extra large coffee he'd gotten after waking shortly after 6 to prop his eyelids open.

"Draco Malfoy?"

"Yes?" Draco turned quickly, taking in the familiar face smiling at him from the doorway and cursing the fates for their games.

"Eddie Carmichael. Call me Eddie. I was a year ahead of you at Hogwarts. I'm assistant to Healer Rigsdale." Carmichael's grin was open and engaging, perfectly at home on his friendly face, and he held his hand out for Draco to shake with obvious ease.

And why wouldn't he? He knew nothing about Draco, really. Only the events at Hogwarts, and he was old enough to have missed the worst of Draco's time there. But Draco knew Carmichael, from the top of his curly brown hair to the bottoms of his feet. After all, he remembered the headline of the _Prophet_ as well as he knew the recipe for Dreamless Sleep. _CHOSEN ONE CHOOSES MEN_, with a photograph of Harry and Eddie Carmichael staring besottedly at each other beneath.

He cleared his throat and grasped Carmichael's hand. "Draco Malfoy. Draco, please."

"Good to meet you! Healer Rigsdale is terribly excited for you to be joining us. By which I mean she smiled at your acceptance like Professor McGonagall in the catnip."

And his impish grin at that was so unexpected, Draco found himself laughing in spite of himself. "I never thought of _that_ particular mental image, but now I'm having a hard time dislodging it from my head."

"Then my work is done. You'll go into your meeting trying to not laugh, she'll think you're a bit of a loon, and we'll all be happy together." Carmichael chuckled quietly and gestured for Draco to follow him down the hall. "Not that you're not one for that Mastery. Potions alone nearly did me in."

"Is everyone in the department Potions Masters, then?"

"Nope! Healer Rigsdale is Healing, of course. But so are Cornfoot and Siddons. Me and Peasegood are Potions."

"And I'm the poor sod hired to walk the line between you?"

"Lucky you, eh?" Carmichael grinned at him over his shoulder, pausing to open an oak door. "Conference room. Your papers are all there in triplicate for the sods in WR, and Healer Rigsdale should be in to see you in about fifteen minutes, once I've given everyone all the lovely gossip."

"Only fifteen?"

"I talk fast." Carmichael gave him a firm pat on the shoulder and ushered him inside. "Good luck, it's good to have you aboard."

"Thanks." He found himself returning the grin, torn between relief and dismay that he actually liked Carmichael.

oOo

When Healer Rigsdale entered fifteen minutes later (Carmichael apparently had a very solid grasp of his ability to gossip) Draco couldn't help but see why he'd likened her to McGonagall. Healer Rigsdale had similarly sharp features and wore a tight bun, though her hair was a middling brown under the grey.

"Mr. Malfoy. A pleasure to finally meet you." She stretched a hand out, her voice deep and soothing. "I see you're dealing well with the paperwork."

"Yes. Though I wasn't expecting to have Ministry employment forms as well."

She nodded. "That's Carmichael's pet project. About three years ago, the DMLE Potions Department was merged with Potions and Plants here at St. Mungo's. It's increased efficiency, with Peasegood being moved in here as opposed to having to work in a converted closet in Auror headquarters and spending half his time twiddling his thumbs."

Draco blinked. "I wasn't aware that the relationship between St. Mungo's and DMLE was so close."

"They weren't. But outside of Hogwarts, Carmichael and Peasegood are the only Potions Masters capable of passing a Ministry background check, so they ended up spending half their time consulting anyway. The main lab has a private Floo connection to the Auror Department, it's just more efficient for everyone involved."

"Oh." He fidgeted with a form a moment. "Well, as I'm sure you're aware, I spent some time in Auror training."

"Yes, you're fully capable of passing the background check. It didn't play much into your hiring, however. We've had our eye on you since Slughorn contacted me with your NEWTs results." She smiled at him, finally sliding into another seat at the table, leaning across eagerly. "Your work is exactly what we're needing. Carmichael and Peasegood are very talented Potions Masters, but we need someone who has your focus on Healing. Your Mastery choice was exactly the sort of thing we're looking for."

He blinked at her, flushing a bit under the avidity of her expression. "I'm not going to give you false modesty, if that's what you're waiting for. I do good work."

"You do. But more importantly, you do _efficient_ work. Not only did you create a detox potion that could deal with most poisons in a single go, you did it without triggering the worst of the side effects that the current range cause. And the fact the strength can be controlled by a simple dilution with an infusion of chamomile. _Exactly_ the sort of thing we're looking for. And not the sort of thing DMLE cares about, so you won't be getting distracted."

"Is DMLE usually distracting to Carmichael and Peasegood?"

"Yes." Her hand hit the table with a thump that made him jump. "At least twice a week, they're sending over something to be analyzed. Not enough to keep a Potion Master on-staff, though now that I've got all the Masters here, I do get first dibs."

"And me, who the DMLE won't care about."

"Not beyond your ability to patch up their Aurors, no." And her expression at that was so smug, he couldn't help but laugh. "It's how I was able to convince WR to hire you and pay your deservedly exorbitant salary."

"You're digging in Ministry coffers to cover me?"

"Of course! The Ministry covers one-third salary of all Potions Masters on St. Mungo's staff that they benefit from. As long as you're making their Pepper-Up or something, that includes you. So St. Mungo's is paying _you_ the salary they'd be paying a standard Potions Master, gets a hefty discount for Carmichael and Peasegood, and the Ministry covers the rest."

Draco smiled. "So nice to meet a member of my old House."

"Isn't it?" Healer Rigsdale smirked at him a moment. "Now, why don't we shelve those papers and you can work on them later. I'll give you the tour of your lab and introduce you to Peasegood, since you've already met Carmichael. And anyone else we stumble over on the way. Then I'll let you get back to that and hopefully get out of here by lunch. I know you're flat-hunting."

He nodded. "Thank you."

"No, Mr. Malfoy. Thank _you_."

oOo

His flat wasn't exactly what he'd hoped for. It was small and simple: a single bedroom with large windows that let in the morning light, a bathroom with a worn clawfoot tub, and a large room with built-in bookshelves attached to the tiny kitchen which served as dining room, living room, and study. It was part of a larger house long since chopped up into individual flats, but its proximity to Grimmauld Place and the lack of ugly carpeting covering the aged hardwood meant that Draco deemed it the best of what he was able to view in the week before his start at St. Mungo's.

At least the views were good. His bedroom windows overlooked the flowered terrace that seemed to be what the batty old Squib below him focused all her non-Kneazle time on, and the rest looked out on the quiet street beside them. And he could always find something else later. He was living in London now, after all, and would be for the foreseeable future. And wasn't that a surprisingly giddy feeling?

For the present, it suited him fine. His kitchen was primarily needed to hold biscuits, tea, and coffee. In his first weeks in London, for actual food he used the St. Mungo's cafeteria, the pub on the corner, and Grimmauld Place with roughly equal regularity. His bookshelves were full and books overwhelmed most available surfaces, but he supposed that would be the case no matter how many rooms he had devoted to shelving. The only thing he really couldn't do was lodge overnight guests outside of his own bed, but an Apparition point less than a block away removed the need to worry about that as well.

So if Blaise had shown up and sniffed at his clutter, and his mother had tutted and persuaded Aunt Andromeda to send Kreacher over once a week to sort his belongings, he didn't mind. The fussing and snobbery had made it feel even more like home.

He was determined to never admit it, but his mother was correct: being back in London was a relief. He found himself thinking of Carmichael as a friend, done in by his relentless cheer. Even Peasegood's dour expression belied a clever mind and positively dirty sense of humor, and he found himself looking forward to going in to St. Mungo's for reasons completely unrelated to his potions work.

He rather thought this was what Auror Training would have been like had he actually wanted it, and he was grateful again that he'd quit when he did.

oOo

"Hey, you off tonight?"

Draco peered up through the fumes of his cauldron to see Carmichael standing in the doorway, bouncing on his heels. "Yes. Just need to finish this batch of Blood Replenisher."

"It's your first Friday off before nine since you started. We need to celebrate!"

"I've been working three weeks. That's hardly onerous."

"Three weeks you've survived, and not even a welcome party to show for it." Carmichael shook his head, his expression comically grave.

"My welcome party is the paycheck which I deposit into Gringotts every week." Draco let his expression go smug, and he sneered as he'd rarely done since Hogwarts.

"Then you can cover the first round at the pub tonight."

"How is it _my_ welcome party if I'm footing the tab?"

Carmichael waved his hand. "Details. You make almost half again as much as I do, so you can afford it. I just want to make sure you're settled in, having fun, and not going to leave us any time soon."

"So purely selfish on your part." Draco couldn't help the grin growing on his face.

"Yep!" Carmichael grinned as well. "Shamelessly using you as an excuse to get plastered on your Galleon. Not because I like you at all."

He laughed. "Git. Alright, give me thirty minutes to finish this up, and I'll be ready to go."

"Do. These long hours are making the rest of us look bad."

"Well if you didn't spend half your brewing time arsing off with the Aurors..."

"They buy my drinks, too." Carmichael grinned. "You finish up with that, you teacher's pet. All work and no fun is no fun at all. You're going to end up like Peasegood. You know he's only 27, right?"

There was a snort, audible from the next lab over, and Peasegood's reedy voice rose above the sound of bubbling. "You're off by 50 years, and if you hadn't been so busy being bent over the desks at Hogwarts, you might know how to count the difference."

Draco blushed, but Carmichael just laughed. "He's jealous because I made more NEWTs than he did. 'Swhy he started with the DMLE." Then louder, "I kept all my bending over the desks to designated non-study times, thanks."

"I can never tell when you're serious or not..." Draco shook his head slightly, keeping his focus on his cauldron.

"I'm sorry. Only half. I don't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"No, it's not... I'm just not used to this sort of thing being discussed quite so... bluntly at work."

"Well, it's only being discussed at work because you're officially in overtime. So brew faster!"

Carmichael wandered out so Draco turned his attention back to his cauldron. He was just preparing to decant the batch for cooling when Carmichael turned up again at his elbow. "And don't worry, I'm not trying to make a pass at you."

"I didn't think you were. You're in a relationship, aren't you?"

"What?"

Draco turned to look at Carmichael, briefly nonplussed by the confused expression on his face. "Even in France, the papers were full of your relationship with Ha-Harry Potter."

Carmichael's expression cleared and he laughed. "Nah, me and Harry are just mates. Nothing more there, anymore; too busy with work. And I'm not looking for anything serious, _and_ I know better than to dip my fingers in anything here at work. Not that you're not attractive or anything, but work and play stay separate."

"Friends with a little something more on weekends. How the papers get things wrong."

"Something like that, yeah." Carmichael peered at him briefly. "So you do blokes?"

Draco could feel the flush rising in his neck again, but he nodded. "Exclusively."

Carmichael nodded. "Don't worry. I don't do the old auntie matchmaker thing. Unless you want that sort of thing. But I think you're probably a bit too much of a workaholic."

He laughed. "I have a mother and an aunt, as well as friends who have dabbled in the matchmaking thing. I appreciate not having it at work as well."

"Well no wonder you're such a workaholic, then! Come on, I'll help you pour that and we'll get out of here."

oOo

When the spin of the Side-Along faded, Draco grimaced because _of course_ his life had to go like this. The familiar facade of the Golden Goose was before him, well lit and cheery, and Carmichael had grabbed his arm and was dragging him toward the door. He didn't know why he bothered to feel surprised. Carmichael hung out with Aurors. He'd been sleeping for an indeterminate amount of time in the past with Harry Potter.

"Come on, don't drag your heels now." Carmichael's tug was impossible to resist without turning into an oversized Teddy Lupin, and Draco allowed himself to be pulled through the door and into the golden glow of the pub. "Hallo gents!"

There was a chorus of greetings, and Draco blinked briefly at the surreal familiarity. It all looked so much the same; it could have been a photograph of his last visit to the Golden Goose, only everyone was visibly older, and scarlet robes had overtaken the russet of the trainees.

"What the hell! Malfoy, when did you get back?" Finnigan's voice still carried, and the conversation lulled around him as he hopped off his stool and reached a hand out toward Draco. Draco reached out, letting him give it a firm shake, and he glanced around to find himself the center of a slowly widening circle of attention. "Oi! Malfoy's back!"

Draco suddenly found himself squirming under the gazes of most of the members of his Auror class, as well as what was likely the next year or two. He nodded briefly, eyes darting around and meeting Ha—Potter's—before he could stop himself. "Hello."

"Familiar company?"

He startled briefly at Carmichael's voice, closer than he'd realized, and he turned to see him smiling curiously. "I didn't realize the Golden Goose was still where this generation of Aurors still congregated. I used to come when I was in training."

"Ahh. So it's a party then!" Carmichael turned and grinned at the barkeep. "Malfoy's survived almost a month at St. Mungo's and is making most of the Pepper-Up and Skele-Gro this lot is using. He's also buying my drinks tonight—"

"Hey—" Draco frowned at Carmichael, but Carmichael just talked over him.

"Because he's making twice my pay. But it's his party, so this lot will be covering his drinks in thanks for keeping them alive."

There was a pause, as the barkeep glanced between Draco and Carmichael, and then a laugh behind him. "That's fine. Malfoy never did drink too much at these things when he was around, and I doubt much has changed." Draco glanced back and saw Thomas walking up to the bar. He laid down a Galleon and grinned at Draco. "First's on me. I used some of that Skele-Gro this week."

"Well, someone's got to actually make the potions, since Carmichael and Peasegood spend all their time gossiping in your department, apparently."

"Hey! I thought we were friends!" Carmichael clutched a hand to his chest and stumbled backwards, to be propped up by a laughing Finnigan. "Barkeep! I require firewhisky to save me from this insult."

Draco sighed when the barkeep glanced at him, and laid his own Galleon on the bar. "His tab tonight is on me, apparently. These Aurors have been spoiling him."

The barkeep grinned and conversation around them gradually picked up again. Draco didn't let himself think about how hard it was to avoid looking at Potter.

oOo

For all his complaints, he really didn't mind paying for Carmichael's drinks. He'd joked, but a single firewhisky followed by a few of pints was hardly a burden, and wasn't much more than Draco would be spending had he been paying for himself.

And he wasn't paying for himself. After Dean Thomas bought him his first pint, Finnigan had slapped down a Galleon. It was... nice. Strangely familiar, but more relaxed than his pub nights had ever been in Auror training. Of course, he was also more relaxed before coming, not needing the evenings to be the sole bright spot of his week. The entire evening was nice, and he enjoyed the relaxed glow of it.

Which is why he shouldn't have been surprised when Potter came up to speak with him. "Mal—Draco." Potter's smile was shy as he laid some money on the bar. "Good to see you.

He nodded, giving a strained smile. "Potter. You as well." He fidgeted with his pint for a moment, glancing around for an excuse to leave before things became horribly awkward. Unfortunately, Carmichael was engaged in a game of darts at the back of the pub.

"I'm glad you're back. And Medical Potions, wow."

Draco glanced back at Potter, somewhat relieved to see a similar tension in his expression. He nodded, taking a slow breath. "Thank you. It was the right decision. I'm... glad to be back in London. Before my results were in, I was thinking about opening an Apothecary in Provence; just sitting back and drinking wine all day. But I'm really happy with St. Mungo's. I didn't realize I'd missed London as much as I had."

Potter's expression relaxed and he nodded, taking a sip of his own pint. "Yeah, Andromeda was saying it was a huge relief having you nearby for Teddy."

Draco smiled as well. "It's nice being able to see him more. They visit Rennes every month, but it's a lot different now."

"Andromeda also said you were working on..." Potter let his words trail off, and he glanced briefly to the barkeep.

Draco nodded. "A pet project, though I've not been able to spend as much time on it as I'd like. Rigsdale has me spending most of my time stocking the stores with my detox potion. She wants the old stuff all thrown out completely. Though... if I'd known Teddy would need it, I would have shifted my focus in the last year before I spent all my time on blood cleansing."

"Blood cleansing? I thought you said detox."

Draco flushed slightly. "It was because of Shelby's Sober-Up Solution that I thought of it. Cleaning poison from the bloodstream is very closely related to alcohol. It was just a matter of finding the right combination that could do both and then finding how to vary the strength as needed."

He didn't like thinking about how Sober-Up reminded him of that first wonderful Saturday with Potter, and Draco definitely didn't want to talk about it _to_ him. Luckily, Potter didn't seem to make a connection, just nodded. "Well, you weren't to know. None of us did."

The silence that followed was awkward, and Draco took another drink wondering if he could duck out without Carmichael noticing. Just as he was about to make his excuses, Potter spoke again. "I just wanted to say sorry."

Draco paused, half off his stool, and stared at Potter. "Sorry?"

"You were right. Before you left. I was a shit friend."

"Potter—"

"No, I mean it. And I'm sorry I didn't realize it until after you left. You had every right to call me on it, and I'm sorry I reacted so badly."

"Potter, it's alright. Really. If you hadn't been such a shit friend, I'd have probably stayed miserable in Auror training even longer before finally getting sick of it and moving on." He grinned at Potter's chagrined expression. "Going to Rennes was the right decision for me. And... I may regret some of what led to it, but I don't regret it."

Potter nodded at that, and then smiled tentatively. "So. Friends? I like to think I'm better at it, now."

Draco eyed the hand Potter extended between them before nodding slowly. "We can try that. It will make running into each other easier."

Potter grinned. "Yeah. And we're going to be doing that if you're with Eddie at pub nights. Plus Teddy and Andromeda's."

Draco finally reached out, grasping Potter's hand and shaking it briefly. He thought back on their previous handshakes, and smiled faintly at the fact they always seemed to mean so much more to him than they did to Potter. "I admit I was surprised not to run into you the week I stayed at Grimmauld Place. I know you and Teddy are close." He didn't mention the possibility of running into Potter was one of the things that landed him in his current flat and out of Andromeda's as quickly as possible.

"Yeah, I was in Edinburgh on assignment for most of the month." Potter made a face at that. "I thought London was rainy. Wettest August on record, they said."

Draco laughed. "I do miss the winters in Rennes. Much more temperate. My pleasure being back in London will likely disappear entirely by February. I hope the assignment was a success, just so you don't need to face going back there."

"Yeah. I'm on desks for the next couple weeks before I'm eligible for extended trips in the field again. You remember."

Draco smiled. "Well, I suppose I'll be seeing you around, then. At Andromeda's if nothing else."

"You're leaving?"

Draco nodded. "I was looking to sneak out since Carmichael's too busy to notice I'm not around to pay his tab."

Potter gave a faint grin at that. "I'm... I'm glad you're back, Draco. It's good to see you. Really."

"Thank you. And Potter? I'm sorry, too. About the rumor. I'm much more careful about drinking now that I've learned I tend to run off at the mouth. I didn't behave as a terribly good friend, either. So... I'm sorry you were how I learned that."

He held out his hand again, because shaking hands is what friends _do_, and gave a small smile before "Goodnight, Potter."

"Goodnight, Draco."

oOo

Draco did not spend an hour lying in bed that night staring at the hand Potter had shaken. Twice. He didn't close his eyes, remembering the similarities: the firm grip, the heat, the calluses. He didn't touch it, remembering the differences: that it seemed broader, stronger, rough around the cuticles like Potter had been biting them.

Or if he did, he would never admit to it.

Likewise, wanking to the memory of Potter's smile, the way his eyes crinkled and his nose scrunched ever so slightly was right out. He didn't think, didn't remember, the feeling of those lips against his. Or the feeling of wand and broom callused hands on his cock.

Most of all, he didn't think about Potter's cock, of the first time he saw it, the first time he held it, sucked it, swallowed it. Potter's hands in his hair. Potter fucking his mouth. Fucking Potter's mouth.

Those thoughts would only lead to madness. He took a cold shower instead.

oOo

Being friends with Potter was easier said that done. It wasn't due to anything Potter had done; he was right when he said he was better at being a friend now. But that made things even more awkward. Because Draco had no idea what to do with a Potter who was nice to him; who was funny and generous and open and _always there_.

And he was. Lunches at Aunt Andromeda's every Sunday quickly became the new tradition, where both Potter and Draco were expected to be there from noon until four unless they were at work. Additionally, Carmichael dragged Draco to the Golden Goose with increasing frequency, not just on Fridays, and it seemed that whatever night they went, there was a large chance Potter would be there, too.

The only bright side was Potter had apparently also learned to control his drinking, so Draco didn't need to witness his drunken flirting.

The only particular issue he could find fault with Potter's behavior was his continued insistence that Draco call him Harry instead. Draco was determined to keep that last barrier between them. His heart had been lost once, and still was when he was feeling strong enough to admit it to himself. Only the distance provided by Potter was enough to get him through their frequent meetings.

The hurt in Potter's expression each time Draco refused caused him to curse himself sometimes, but he needed to keep that distance. He needed to survive.

oOo

Draco knew better than to drink too much on pub nights. But he'd made a breakthrough that afternoon with the Wolfsbane variant he'd spent the past three months working on that he was certain would lead to an easier full moon for Teddy and anyone else registered with the hospital, and Carmichael had been plying him with firewhisky after firewhisky for almost an hour.

He comforted himself with the fact that Potter wasn't there. Until, of course, he was, tired and smiling and still in his Auror uniform, a pint in his hand.

Draco clung to his intoxication when they invariably started talking. When Carmichael told Harry what had happened and Harry's joy broke across his face like the sun. When Carmichael patted both their backs, nudging Draco hard into Potter, and Potter wrapped him in a familiar-smelling hug.

It was the only excuse he could give for finally calling him Harry. For kissing him. And when Harry kissed him back, inviting Harry home with him.

He knew this was a mistake. Stumbling out of the Floo and into his flat, he was quickly grabbed. The feeling of Harry's hands, scorching as they grasped his arms and pulled him closer into another snog, seemed to burn something deep inside him that he worried was his soul. He wanted to weep, to beg; it had been so hard to pick up the pieces of his self after his last affair with Harry, and he knew with dread certainty that this time would be worse. That if he gave in this time, he would probably never recover.

But the voice of reason quietly screaming in the back of his mind was overwhelmed by the rush of desire, of _wanting_. The drunken certainty that if he was to be doomed anyway, that he would at least taste the sweet fruit that would kill him.

He couldn't think. He fumbled with the clasps on Harry's robes, fingers clumsy with alcohol and lust, desperate to get them _off_, to reach skin. Harry wasn't helping; the quiet noises he made as he attempted to devour Draco whole proved a continual distraction, and it was all Draco could do to counter, to lick into Harry's mouth, tasting the faint sour tang of ale, to feel the tongue sliding smooth and slick against his.

He tried to not think about how different things were from five years ago. Harry's assurance learned at the hands of other men, of better men. There was none of the hesitancy of his earlier life with Draco, and his hands were confident and assured as they slid across Draco's back and down, cupping and squeezing his arse. The changes caused his stomach to clench even as his cock twitched at the handling, and he whimpered like a dying thing, holding tightly to Harry.

The noise changed something. Harry pulled back, staring intently at him. He wanted to close his eyes, to not _see_ the way Harry was looking at him. He couldn't bear to hope. But Harry only leaned in, his kisses shifting to something less needy, more gentle, and Draco could feel his heart shatter along the cracks that had never really healed.

But he couldn't think that. The pain brought with it a clarity, and he was able to work the clasps and fobs, finally wrestling Harry's robe open and down his arms. He could feel differences there, as well. Some of the scars that had still shown red and raised from the war had smoothed, though the oval that marred the center of his chest remained. There was more hair, which Draco shouldn't have found attractive, but did.

"Fuck, Draco." Harry gasped a breath before shoving Draco back into the wall and latching onto his neck. He wrestled the robes off his arms before moving to Draco's, tugging roughly. Draco was certain that he would need to replace buttons in the morning, but repairing buttons and his heart both seemed oddly fitting, so he didn't complain, only tilted his head to the side and let Harry mouth against his pulse.

The flex of muscle under his hands was distracting, and he traced his own way down Harry's back. He felt breathless, and leaned in to trace his teeth along Harry's shoulder. Harry groaned and rocked into him once, twice, before pulling back to stare dazedly. "Clothes. Off. Now."

He wasn't certain what happened to his remaining buttons. Harry ripped the rest of Draco's robe open, accompanied by the pings of several buttons hitting the floor and bouncing. He didn't think about that, he was too busy wrestling his arms from the sleeves, pausing when he saw Harry shove down his own trousers and pants, cock springing free with a bounce.

He licked his lip at the sight, only realizing it when Harry let out a soft noise and reached out, tracing his thumb along Draco's lower lip. He leaned in, unable to resist kissing Harry again.

The weight of Harry leaning in on him, pressing him tighter against the wall, was oddly comforting. It was as if by leaning in harder, more tightly against Draco, Harry would imprint himself into his skin, leaving a trace of himself there forever.

When he pulled back again, Draco couldn't help his sound of frustration, but Harry only gasped "Bed."

Draco nodded, leading Harry further into his flat, around the table and couch, and to the door to his room. He opened it quickly and pulled Harry inside. Once there, the reality hit him again, and Harry also seemed to hesitate briefly, so at odds with his earlier fervor. "Draco, I'm sorry..."

He blinked before straightening, twisting his face into something resembling confidence. "Is this an 'I'm sorry, but I'm not going to fuck you tonight, Draco' sorry? Because unless you're telling me to stop, I don't particularly care what you have to say right now." He leaned in, watching the flutter of Harry's pulse, brushing an almost chaste kiss there and murmuring, "I'd much rather you suck my cock if you're wanting to use your mouth for something. I remember you being quite good at that."

Harry let out another groan, and Draco could feel Harry's cock twitch against his hip. Draco didn't want to think, didn't want Harry to think, didn't want to lose this chance to memories and regrets. Instead he kissed Harry, tugged him further into the room, tried to wrestle the fastenings of his trousers one-handed. It was breathless and awkward and wonderful because it was _Harry_, and he was kissing Harry, and he'd been carefully not thinking, remembering, wishing this for years.

Harry seemed to snap out of his daze, and suddenly he was everywhere. Harry's tongue sliding back into his mouth, his hands tugging open his trousers with more ease than Draco could manage, finally reaching into the open flies and pulling out Draco's cock.

It was everything he'd not let himself think about, not in the past weeks, not in the past years. Harry's hand on his cock felt like breathing, and he fell into it, closing his eyes and just _feeling_ in a way he hadn't been able to in years. Harry cursed softly, then his other arm wrapped tightly around Draco's back, and he found himself forcibly steered to the bed.

He flopped gracelessly backwards, fighting the daze to blink at Harry as he left a trail of kisses down his chest, the flickering of tongue leaving the coolness of air in it's wake as he travelled down, down.

The first touch of Harry's mouth to his cock nearly undid him. Harry had always been enthusiastic, even talented, but there was something desperate about his touch. He sucked hard, almost too hard, on the head; still making the quiet moans Draco had tried years to forget. His hands held Draco's hips, fingers gripping tightly in a way he was certain would leave a bruise for each on his skin. Draco couldn't thrust, held tightly as he was, only try to not rip the blankets in his grip.

Then Harry's head dropped, and he could feel as the head of his cock hit the back of Harry's throat. And it was hot and wet and tight, and the sound leaving his throat would have embarrassed him had Harry not risen and done it again.

It wasn't perfect. It was too slow, for one. Harry's hands on his hips prevented him from thrusting, and no amount of twisting his fingers in Harry's (soft, how had he forgotten it was so soft?) hair increased his speed. The pressure was almost too much as well, when he'd pause between deep strokes to suck hard at the tip. Draco's cock was sensitive, so sensitive it almost felt like he'd already come. But Harry didn't give him a break, keeping with his relentless determination to see Draco completely undone.

And he was undone. He was a moaning, writhing, sweaty wreck when Harry pulled away. Harry's face was flushed, his lips dark and swollen, and his eyes and hair were wild. "Roll over."

The gravelly tone caused Draco to whimper again, and he didn't even think about his cock, rock hard and aching, when he flopped over. Harry tugged his hips down, until he was half-off the bed, cock dangling, and he groaned in anticipation as Harry's hands moved from his hips to knead his arse. "Fuck..."

"Yeah." Harry's one word was barely a whisper as he leaned in, and Draco felt the first hot breath against his arse. Harry groaned, his hands tightening, before licking a wide stripe from bollocks to tailbone.

Harry made the same noises when his tongue was licking tight rings around the pucker of Draco's arse as when he was kissing Draco's mouth. Moreover, Draco found himself opening for Harry as he would for his kisses, pressing into him as best he was able around the feeling of his tongue and moaning.

And when Harry's tongue was replaced by a finger, the drag of spit on skin pressed slowly into his arse, he shuddered a breath. He knew he was speaking, words tumbling over themselves in a rush, but was intentionally not thinking of what he was saying. He was too open, his soul and body stretched wide, even with only the smallest part of Harry intruding.

Harry pressed on, his tongue and finger fighting for space as he opened Draco up. "Lube?"

Draco's chest was tight, and it took him a few tries before he was able to pull his thoughts together enough to reply. "Drawer."

He felt Harry move away, one finger remaining hooked inside him as he fumbled with the drawer beside Draco's bed. Harry cursed quietly, and the drawer slammed. Then Harry was back, heat and weight curled around Draco's back as he peppered his shoulder with kisses.

Harry placed the jar of slick on the bed beside Draco. "Open it." Then that one finger was moving again, twisting inside him, and he lost his breath again. "Please, Draco."

It was the pained tone of his voice that snapped Draco alert again, and he twisted open the jar, tossing the lid aside. His nose was hit with the familiar smell of his lubricant: sage and sandalwood. Harry reached into the jar, his other finger sliding away, and then the pressure was back, this time cool and slick-soaked, sliding smoothly inside him.

He couldn't catch his breath. He buried his face in his arms, gasping, tears falling though physical pain was not anything he'd describe himself as feeling. As he bore down on a second finger, he only hoped Harry wouldn't notice. He couldn't explain the tears, the fact his heart was again breaking, when he was certain that seeing them would cause Harry to stop.

"Draco, can I?" Harry's own voice sounded thick and raspy, and he nodded into the stale damp air trapped beneath his face. Luckily Harry understood, and there was a moment of emptiness before Draco felt the new spongy press of cock against him.

He spared a moment to regret he'd not gotten to taste it again, to run his fingers along the head, to feel the slide of the foreskin. Things he'd missed that he wasn't going to have the chance to do again. Because even as Harry slid into him, splitting him wide on that fat cock, he knew this couldn't be repeated. That it hurt too much. That leaving St. Mungo's and his life here in London wasn't an option this time.

That they couldn't go back to being friends, and had too many ties to be anything else. And as Harry's cock brushed firmly against his prostate and he gasped a breath he hadn't even been aware he was holding, he didn't let himself listen to the strings of nonsense coming from Harry's mouth. He didn't let himself hope, to the streams of "finally" and "always" and "Draco." He simply reached back, grasping Harry's hip and arched into the next thrust, concentrating on the feeling of skin slapping on skin. And when Harry reached down, grasping and pulling on his cock, he welcomed the brief oblivion his release gave.

oOo

When Draco woke to the sound of the Squib below him yelling at her Kneazles, he was surprised to find Harry asleep in bed beside him. The light stretching in his windows hinted the early hour, and laid beams of honey gold across Harry's back and hair. Draco reached out, tracing a finger along the hair lying across his neck before he could stop himself.

Harry made a quiet noise, rolling over and blinking at Draco before he smiled. It was a soft smile, half asleep and _happy_ in a way that made Draco's stomach twist inside him. "Morning."

"Good morning. I didn't expect you to still be here." His voice was small, tight, and he couldn't bring himself to care that it doubtless betrayed his feelings.

Harry's brow furrowed slightly as he pushed himself up. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize that would be a problem."

He shook his head. "It' isn't, I just... I was surprised. I didn't expect to fall asleep, either."

Something in Harry's expression closed at that, something Draco couldn't read to even judge. He just nodded. "I'm sorry. You continue to be a better person than me when it comes to us. I didn't mean to take advantage when you were drunk."

He shook his head. "You didn't." He swallowed, staring at his hands, twisting in his duvet. "I don't feel taken advantage of. I kissed you first."

He startled as Harry's hand closed over his, stilling the fidgeting. "Then what's wrong?" Harry squeezed his fingers briefly, before releasing them again. "I don't want... I don't want any misunderstandings. I don't want to hurt you again, and I need you to _talk_ to me."

Draco glanced up, caught by Harry's earnest expression. He turned away quickly, fingers wrapped so tightly in the sheet they tingled. He felt worn, and he almost wished he'd had more time to bask in the afterglow, the feeling deep inside him where Harry had been an ache that matched the one in his chest. But he was too worn to remain silent at the prompting. "I can't do that again. I can't be... be friends with something more on weekends. I never could. I'm sorry."

"And if I can't either?" Harry's voice was so carefully neutral, Draco couldn't control his flinch. "I don't want friends with something more on weekends. I don't think I ever really did, either."

As Harry's words sunk in, he blinked at him in shock. "But you said..."

"I know what I _said_." Harry curled up on himself, clutching his knees to his chest under the blanket. "I was a wanker. I was a stupid fucking wanker who didn't know what I wanted." He shoved his hand through his hair and laughed, a bitter sound. "But you went off about wanting a boyfriend, and I hated it, but then I heard this stupid rumor about you and Blaise. And I know it didn't make sense, that you two were friends, but it made me kinda want to strangle you."

Draco gaped, blood staining his cheeks, but Harry continued. "And I _know_ how full of shit the Ministry rumor mill is, but I felt... it felt almost like you'd lied to me, let me down gently, you know? So I started avoiding pub nights when I knew you'd be there so I could _think_. Because it was hard seeing you.

"I didn't even realize until... it wasn't until after you left that I realized I was doubly shit for hurting you because I was afraid, when actually I loved you."

"You what?"

"I loved you. I still love you, maybe even more now. And I know I shouldn't have taken advantage last night, but I don't regret it." And Harry finally met his eyes, face pulled in a familiar stubborn expression.

Draco hit him with the pillow. "Why didn't you say anything, you git?"

Harry dropped his grip on his knees, sprawling to grab the pillow from Draco before he could be hit again. "I thought you were with Eddie! And I was certain I'd already ruined my chances five years ago."

Draco couldn't help but wrinkle his nose at that. "I am _not_ sleeping with Carmichael. Of the pair of us, yours is the only prick he's been near. I saw the headline."

Harry shook his head. "That was years ago. He's... how I learned I can't do the friends with benefits thing. It isn't enough for me. I wanted more and he hit me upside the head until I realized it."

"He's a good friend."

Harry nodded. "The best." Then he reached a tentative hand out, brushing down the bruises he'd left on Draco's arm the previous night. "I'd... like to try for something more. If you're willing."

"What did you have in mind?" Draco's voice was breathy, breathless, but at the darkening of Harry's eyes, he couldn't bring himself to care.

"I'd like to try this again. The right way. Friends with something more, period."

"I don't want to be just friends."

"I don't either. But I want to take this as slow as you need."

Draco climbed onto Harry's lap. "Fuck slow. You have six years of breaking my heart to make up for, you'd better get started."

"Whatever you say."

"I like the sound of that."


End file.
